


Bump in the Night

by SoloChaos



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (It's Drake), Andreil Week 2018, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Shadow people, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 21:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/SoloChaos
Summary: The monsters are supposed to be under the bed. But for some reason, the monster insists on climbing into Andrew’s bed when the lights go out, and the thing under the bed isn’t a monster at all.Andrew Doe is on the cusp of becoming Andrew Spear, and Nathaniel is what goes bump in the night.(Written for Andreil Week 2018, Day 7: fear.)





	Bump in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for the inexplicit mentions and discussions of child sexual abuse and rape, self-harm, and minor character death. Nothing more explicit than the books.
> 
> This is more of a not!fic than a fic; it's not as long or descriptive as it could– or should– be. It's more of a discussion of a premise I'm interested in.
> 
> The characters could be OOC, but Andrew is younger: pre-knowledge of Aaron, pre-juvie, pre-drugs, and Nathaniel's backstory is... quite different. So that's why.
> 
> (This is not beta read. Or proofread. Please let me know about any grammatical mistakes. Thank you!)
> 
> First AFTG fic! Hope you enjoy!

Andrew has never thought of _home_ as a permanent thing. It has always been transient for him, aloof and unsentimental and impermanent. So it throws him off-guard when, one night, Cass and Richard sit down with him and bring up the topic of adoption. The idea of having a home where he _stays._

He’s surprised, but maybe he shouldn’t be. It’s not that he never gets what he wants; it’s that when he gets what he wants, it’s accompanied by something that ruins it. Taints it. Makes him wish he never wanted it. Like eating so many sweets that he ends up throwing them back up. Getting to have a movie marathon of films he’d always to see, only to be distracted the entire time by unwanted hands.

Being adopted by the perfect parents with a monster for a son.

But Andrew’s stronger now, and he knows he isn’t going to let Drake ruin this for him. He refuses. This is something he has wanted more than anything else, _ever._ For people like Andrew, nothing good is free. Drake is a price he’ll just have to pay. And he will.

 

 

That night, when Drake presses him into his bed and tells him how excited he is that they’ll finally be brothers for real, Andrew finds himself listening to sounds that seem to be coming from underneath him. Under the bed.

He knows that the noises can’t be real, that they must be in his head, because they’re way too loud for Drake to not have noticed.

Regardless of whether or not they’re real, the fact remains that Andrew starts hearing these noises every night that Drake comes in. Andrew doesn’t let himself look under the bed; that would be ridiculous. He isn’t a child; he knows that there’s nothing underneath the bed.

And yet.

The need to check, to be _sure,_ is becoming more and more overwhelming each night. Andrew had thought this kind of childish curiosity had been stamped out of him a long time ago, but it either came back or was never gone in the first place.

So one night– a night that isn’t too hard on Andrew’s body, and it doesn’t hurt too much to move– Andrew lies on his bed, finding the desire to find the source of the noises coming from under his bed.

The curiosity finally becomes too much, and Andrew finds himself climbing out of bed and turning on his desk lamp. He stands there for a few minutes, feeling ridiculous, but he ultimately decides that it’d be better to get this over with once and for all, so finally, he crouches down and looks.

And freezes.

Under his bed is a black man. Not black like dark skinned, but black like he’s made of shadows: ill-defined and somewhat translucent.

_Not a man,_  Andrew realizes after a few more moments of scrutiny.  _A boy._ The fact that he seems to be made of shadows means that his features are harder to distinguish, but under Andrew’s careful inspection, the features of a boy, maybe a few years younger than Andrew, come into focus.

It takes Andrew longer than he’d like to admit before he’s able to speak.

“Who are you?” he finally says. 

“Nathaniel,” the boy says. “You can see me?” 

“Obviously,” Andrew says. “What are you?” 

Nathaniel shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says plainly. “I’m me.” 

“Obviously,” Andrew says again. “You really don’t know what you are? You’re not human, are you?” 

He thinks that he sees Nathaniel frown, but it’s hard to tell, considering how the boy’s face seems to swallow more light than it reflects. “I’m not human,” he says. “Are you human?” 

“Yes,” Andrew says, inwardly marveling at the fact that someone was asking that genuinely, not sarcastically.

“If you’re human, why can you see me?” Nathaniel says.

“I don’t know. I never met my parents; maybe I’m not human,” Andrew says. It was something he used to imagine when he was little, that one day a magical being would come and take him to a magical place, where he was supposed to be. Where he would fit in.

Nathaniel hums. “I think you’re human. If you weren’t, you would look like me.”

That disappoints Andrew more than he thinks it should. He thought he’d given up on an easy way out years ago, but some part of him was apparently still waiting to be taken away.

“So there are others like you?” Andrew asks.

Nathaniel nods.

“How many?”

“I don’t know.” 

“How do you not know?”

“It’s not like we have homes and schools and jobs like humans,” Nathaniel says, sounding annoyed. “Sometimes I see my father. And his– his friends.” 

“Oh,” Andrew says. “Why are you under my bed?” 

Nathaniel shrugs. “It’s pretty comfortable.” 

“Oh,” Andrew says again. “Are you there all the time?”

Nathaniel shakes his head. “No. I’m going to go now, actually.”

“Wait,” Andrew starts to say, but then Nathaniel shifts back, and the shadows seem to swallow him.

Andrew sits there, staring, for about five minutes.

“Whatever,” he mutters, climbing back to bed and falling asleep.

 

 

The next day, he does his best to convince himself that it was a dream– because how could it not be?– but that night, as Drake holds him down, he hears the same noises from under the bed. For once, it isn’t just that he wants Drake to stop; now, it’s that he wants Drake to stop so he can look underneath his bed.

After Drake leaves, after Andrew has cleaned himself up and calmed himself down, he tries to convince himself that Nathaniel had been a dream, that there’s nothing under the bed. He shouldn’t get his hopes up that something interesting is happening, something to distract him; if he gets his hopes up, the disappointment might kill him.

Before Andrew can even move to look, a shadow shape of a head peeks out from under the bed and looks up at him.

“Hi,” Nathaniel says.

So every night for the next two weeks, after Drake finally leaves him for the night, Andrew cleans himself up, lies on the floor next to his bed, and talks to Nathaniel.

He thinks he likes talking to Nathaniel for the same reason other people like horror movies or rollercoasters. Nathaniel is unpredictable and baffling, features that Andrew normally hates but now finds exhilarating. Nathaniel has an almost encyclopedic knowledge on some things, like the functions of the human heart, but has absolutely no understanding of almost everything else.

Each night, Andrew talks about almost everything that crosses his mind, from math tests to cupcakes to Exy. Nathaniel responds with odd comments on each, like, “How do you account for time in geometry?” and “Is vanilla a type of chocolate?” and “Why use rackets if you can just pick the ball up? Is it poisonous?” 

One night, as Andrew recounts the story of how he conned Liam Wilson out of his pudding at lunch today, he grabs the packet of M&Ms he got today and begins to eat. Nathaniel watches him with obvious fascination as Andrew begins to eat the M&Ms in between words.

Eventually, Nathaniel’s staring becomes too much to ignore.

“Do you want some?” Andrew says reluctantly.

“No.” 

“Then why are you staring?” 

“I’ve never seen someone eat up close,” Nathaniel explains. “It’s interesting.” 

Andrew stares, unsure of how to respond to that. 

“How do you know when to use forks and spoons and things, and when to just eat with your hands?” Nathaniel asks. “Do you learn that at school?” 

“I– what?” Andrew blinks, bewildered. “No, I… What?” He’s confused, and he doesn’t like it; it’s pushing him off-balance.

“How do you know when you should use a fork or something, or when you should use your hands?” Nathaniel reiterates.

“Haven’t you ever eaten before?” Andrew says. 

Nathaniel shakes his head. “We don’t eat.” 

“Everything needs to eat,” Andrew says. “Even plants eat. Photosynthesize. Whatever.” 

“I don’t eat _food.”_  

“What do you mean, you don’t eat food.” Andrew getting tired of asking questions.

“I eat energies. The ones from humans,” Nathaniel says, as though that answers everything. It really doesn’t.

“What does _that_ mean?” Andrew says, narrowing his eyes.

“Humans have energies.” At Andrew’s blank stare, Nathaniel tries to elaborate. “You know, when something… happens? When you react to something.”

“Emotions?”

“Sort of,” Nathaniel says. “But it– it’s a certain kind. I can’t remember the name, but it makes you breathe really fast and your heartbeat goes up and you get really tense.” 

“Fear?” Andrew guesses.

“Oh, fear! Yeah, that’s it,” Nathaniel says with a nod. 

“Fear,” Andrew repeats blankly. The M&Ms are turning to ash in his mouth. “You feed on my fear.” 

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says. “So, why do you eat those things with your hands, but you eat other stuff with forks or spoons or whatever?” 

“Go away,” Andrew says. His hands are starting to shake.

“What? Why?” Nathaniel asks, sounding confused.

“Go away!” Andrew repeats, louder this time. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Leave me alone!” Andrew snaps, and with a look of surprise on his face, Nathaniel slinks back into the shadows and disappears.

Pushing himself into the corner of his bedroom, Andrew grabs his hair and _yanks._ Somehow it had never occurred to him that the shadow creature underneath his bed might be bad. Stupid, so  _stupid._

This Nathaniel thing has been _benefitting_ whenever Drake slithers in and holds Andrew down and _takes._ And Andrew decided to treat this thing like a diary, entrusting him– it– _whatever_ with his thoughts and feelings. Andrew has never told anyone about himself as much as he told Nathaniel. Why?

Andrew falls asleep curled up in the corner of his room, fingers still tugging at his hair. 

 

 

He goes four nights without seeing or even hearing Nathaniel. It’s screwed up how lonely he feels now when Drake comes in. No sounds of movement coming from under the bed; just Drake’s filthy words and the sound of Andrew’s own heartbeat.

It’s not that he wants to be relieved when he hears Nathaniel under the bed the fifth night, but he is. He’s so relieved that it drowns out the things that Drake is whispering to him. For a moment, at least.

Andrew goes to the bathroom once Drake leaves and cleans himself hurriedly, afraid that Nathaniel will leave before they can talk. He tries to ask himself why he’s so anxious to talk to Nathaniel after finding out exactly _why_ Nathaniel is even here, but he isn’t a very cooperative person. Even with himself.

Nathaniel’s still there when he gets back, peeking out from under the bed. His face brightens when he sees Andrew– literally; his face becomes a few shades lighter.

“Hi,” Nathaniel says. “I wasn’t sure how long you wanted me to leave you alone.” 

Andrew settles on his belly perpendicular to the bed. “I still don’t know,” he admits, eyeing Nathaniel warily. Does he look full? Sated from Andrew’s fear of Drake?

“What did I do?” Nathaniel says. Like he has no idea.

Andrew takes a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep his anger in check. “You _feed on my fear.”_

“So?” And Nathaniel does look genuinely confused, like he has no idea why Andrew is upset about this. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“What’s _wrong_ with that?” Andrew squeezes his forearms through his sleeves, trying to keep himself from lashing out. “It means it’s _good_ for you when I’m afraid.” 

“Is it bad to be afraid?” Nathaniel says, sounding legitimately curious. “I don’t feel fear. What’s it like?” 

“What do you mean, you don’t feel fear?” Andrew says. Every time he thinks he has a handle on Nathaniel and what he is, he’s immediately thrown for a loop. He should probably learn to take these things in stride.

Nathaniel shrugs. “I just don’t,” he says. “Why should I?” 

“Oh.” For a moment, Andrew allows himself to be viciously jealous. Then he shoves it away. 

“So?” Nathaniel says expectantly. “What’s fear like?” 

“It’s… bad.” How do you describe fear to someone who has no frame of reference? “It’s like you can’t breathe.”

“I don’t breathe.” 

“Of course you don’t,” Andrew mutters, wracking his brain for a metaphor Nathaniel can relate to. “Okay. What happens if you don’t have access to people’s fear?”

There’s a pause. “It feels like there’s a hole inside me,” Nathaniel says finally. For a moment, Andrew could swear that his eyes are blue, but then he blinks, and Nathaniel’s eyes are dark gray again. 

“Does it feel bad?” 

“It’s the worst thing I can feel.”  

“Fear is like that,” Andrew says quietly. “It’s like feeling empty and not knowing if you’ll ever stop feeling empty.” 

Nathaniel considers this. “So you,” he begins, and then pauses. “So you feel like… _that_ every night?” 

Andrew shrugs, uncomfortable. “I guess.” 

“What is that man who comes in at night doing to you?” Nathaniel asks. “Why does he make you afraid?”

Intellectually, Andrew had known that Nathaniel has been present for Drake, but having that reminder shoved in his face sends a wave a betrayal washing through him.

_He doesn’t know,_ he reminds himself. _Nathaniel didn’t even know what fear was, that it’s bad…_

“He’s raping me,” Andrew says, and immediately winces at the starkness of his words.

There’s no recognition in Nathaniel’s eyes. “What’s that?”  

“He’s… forcing me. To have.” Andrew swallows. “Sex. With him.” At Nathaniel’s confused look, Andrew says, “He’s hurting me.” 

“Oh,” Nathaniel says blankly. 

Andrew looks at his forearms, wishing for a blade. “Yeah.” 

“Oh,” Nathaniel says again, but now he sounds sad. And angry. “He’s hurting you?” 

Andrew nods jerkily. “Why did you think I was afraid? Because I was happy to see him?” 

“I didn’t know why people feel fear,” Nathaniel says plainly. “Is it always because people are being hurt?” 

Andrew shrugs. “Or because they think they might be hurt.” It’s interesting, he thinks. Nathaniel doesn’t understand fear, but he does seem to understand being hurt. 

“Oh,” Nathaniel says quietly. Then: “I think I’m afraid of my father.” 

“I thought you didn’t feel fear,” Andrew says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not _supposed_ to,” Nathaniel says, sounding frustrated. “But I– I think my father scares me.” 

His eyes are blue, and when Andrew blinks, his eyes stay blue. “Nathaniel?”

“What?” Nathaniel says, and his eyes are gray again.

“Oh,” Andrew says. “Never mind.” 

“I’ve been thinking,” Nathaniel says. “I don’t want you to be scared again.” 

Andrew snorts. “Cool,” he says. You and me both.

“I can stop the man,” Nathaniel continues. “The one who comes in at night.” 

Nothing can stop Drake. Andrew knows that by now. “How?” he asks, curious despite himself.

“I can kill him,” Nathaniel says easily.

Andrew blinks. “What?”

“I can kill him,” Nathaniel says again. “Is that okay? Do you want me to?” 

“I… I…” _Yes_ is on the tip of his tongue. But even if Nathaniel could kill Drake, his death would hurt Cass.

His affection for Cass wars with his desire to survive. He’d shoved this knowledge away, but deep down, there’s no way he can survive Drake. He’s dying more and more every night, and

Andrew is a human, is an animal. The desire to survive wins. 

When Andrew says _yes,_ Nathaniel’s teeth are a startling white as he flashes Andrew a sharp grin.

 

 

Andrew’s antsy with anticipation for the entirety of the next day. Cass comments on it that evening, asks if everything’s all right, and Andrew is torn between crying for her and laughing at the irony. 

That night, Andrew lies in bed, waiting for _something_ to happen. He doesn’t know how Nathaniel plans on killing Drake; he doesn’t know if Nathaniel even _can_ kill Drake. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but. Well. Andrew really just can’t help himself.

Close to midnight, Drake steps inside and locks the door. Andrew’s heart is hammering in his chest as Drake opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Nathaniel is in front of him, having moved from under the bed in one fluid motion.

“Hello,” Nathaniel says. Andrew doesn’t know if he’s addressing Drake or Andrew, but finding out doesn’t seem all the important right now.

Andrew watches, torn between horror and fascination, as Nathaniel’s hand goes _into_ Drake’s chest, in the way ghosts walk through walls in movies. The muscles in Nathaniel’s arm– the one attached to the hand inside Drake– tense, and Nathaniel’s brows furrow in a look of concentration. Abruptly, Andrew realizes exactly what Nathaniel is doing.

Nathaniel is stopping Drake’s heart from inside his chest.

Fascination, Andrew decides. It’s definitely fascination.

Drake’s eyes can’t seem to focus on Nathaniel. Maybe he can't see him. Whatever the reason is, his gaze fixes on Andrew, mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Andrew watches, feeling very detached from himself, as the blood seems to drain from Drake’s face, lips growing pale. Nathaniel, on the other hand, is becoming vibrant– when Andrew realizes that Nathaniel’s hair is going from a dark gray to a bright red, he stops watching Drake entirely.

By the time Drake collapses on the floor, completely still, Nathaniel looks almost entirely  _human._ His skin is pale and his hair is red and when he looks up at Andrew, his eyes are bright blue. The indication that he _isn’t_ human is the slightly translucent quality of his form.

“Wow,” Nathaniel says. Even his voice is different; the change is subtle, but it’s firmer and steadier. “Are you okay?” 

“Are _you?”_ Andrew says, voice a little weak. “Nathaniel, you… you’re…” 

“What?” Nathaniel says, looking down. He visibly flinches, and when he looks back up at Andrew, his eyes are widened in shock. 

“Why… why…” is all Andrew can say.

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel says, patting himself down frantically. His form begins to flicker, going back and forth rapidly between shadowy and human. 

Finally, after what seems like hours of Nathaniel flickering back and forth, he finally settles on his shadow form. “I– I have to go,” he says, sounding… scared. 

“Wait,” Andrew says, but Nathaniel shakes his head.

“I’ll come back soon,” he promises. “I will. I just… I have to go.” Then he dives back under the bed and disappears, all before Andrew can protest. 

Nathaniel doesn’t come back soon.

Nathaniel doesn’t come back at all.

A few weeks later, a boy named Aaron Minyard sends him a letter. When Aaron and his uncle arrive at Cass’s house, Andrew goes with them.

 

  

Years later, Andrew is in Millport, Arizona with Wymack and Kevin, not just because of his deal with Kevin, but also because this potential player is… familiar.

Andrew is waiting outside while Wymack talks to “Neil Josten”– patience is a virtue, or something– when “Neil” comes bursting out the door. Andrew thinks he might’ve actually said “Oh no you don’t,” before swinging his racket. It connects with “Neil’s” middle, and “Neil” goes down like he’d been shot. 

“Andrew!” Nathaniel– Neil– _Nathaniel_  says, looking genuinely pleased to see him, despite the fact that Andrew had just knocked him to the ground.

“Neil,” Andrew says. He narrows his eyes. “Nathaniel.” 

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says. “You remember me?”

“Clearly,” Andrew says.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go back,” Nathaniel says earnestly, still lying on the floor. “Once my mom realized I could become human, she took me away from my father. He can’t hurt humans, but he can hurt other shadow people.” 

“…oh,” Andrew says.

“I’m half-human,” Nathaniel explains. “If I was a full shadow person, I wouldn’t have been able to kill that man for you.”

It’s through years of self-discipline that Andrew doesn’t flinch at the mention of Drake. “Half-human.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says. “But I’m pretty much just human now.” He beams at Andrew. “I’m so happy to see you!” 

Andrew doesn’t think anyone has ever been excited to see him before. “…okay,” he says, thinking he should feel at least a little suspicious. He doesn’t.

“I didn’t get a chance to sign the contract; I had to see you first,” Nathaniel says, sitting up. “Let’s go!” he says, bounding back to where Wymack is.

Andrew stares after him for a few moments, and then follows.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! And I hope it made sense! It was more of a tell, not show story, when stories should be show, not tell. I more just wanted to convey the premise rather than tell the story all that well, since I really don't have the capability of writing the story how it should be written.
> 
> Anyway, if you're curious, Neil is based on the "shadow people" from urban legends and such. In this, "shadow people" feed on human fear but are incapable of hurting humans. They aren't bound by traditional rules of time and space as we know it. I really do wish I could've actually wrote this rather than have just told it; maybe I will someday. Someday.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Thanks!


End file.
